Page 134 of Mountain Boss

I glance around the room, not seeing it anywhere.

A question for another day.

Curtains closed, I look at her little setup on the counter. She has the electric teakettle, but I don’t see any tea. Or cold medication.

I open the cabinet over the sink.

AndI stare.

That fucking barbed wire sinks all the way into my skeleton.

This is everything she has.

A handful of ramen packets.

A—I lift it—nearly empty container of oatmeal.

A jar of peanut butter, over half gone.

A bottle of off-brand vitamins.

Instant coffee and six unlabeled bags of tea.

I push the items around.

Nothing else.

I push them to the other side of the cabinet.

Still nothing.

No real food.

No medicine at all.

My heart clenches painfully.

I go into the bathroom, hoping she has a little pharmacy set up here.

On the edge of the sink is a small bottle of Tylenol.

This is it.

I grab it and go back to the other room.

This is all she has.

I turn in a slow circle.

No fridge. No microwave. No place for groceries. No stockpile of drugs.

What has she been eating?

My stomach twists.

Are her cheeks thinner than they were before?

The urge to be sick floods my mouth with saliva.

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